


late night arrival

by brynnmclean (ilfirin_estel)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, RebelCaptain May the Fourth Exchange, Reunions, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-21 17:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18706711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilfirin_estel/pseuds/brynnmclean
Summary: Back from a Pathfinder mission, the first person Jyn looks for is Cassian.She missed him.





	late night arrival

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mollivanders](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollivanders/gifts).



> ~~/hammers out the rust~~
> 
>  
> 
> This was written for the [Rebelcaptain Network](https://therebelcaptainnetwork.tumblr.com/)'s May the Fourth fic exchange for **[ladytharen](https://ladytharen.tumblr.com/)** / **mollivanders**. 
> 
> The prompt was "reasons to celebrate, scars, reunion fic; _she hung on so tightly she left her mark in you_ " and though it's a bit shorter than planned, I hope you enjoy this slice of life, friend!
> 
> Many thanks as always to my wonderful beta, [eisoj5](https://eisoj5.tumblr.com/), for looking this over and for all the encouragement this week. You're the best, friend! <3
> 
> May the Fourth be with us all!

Their transport arrives late back on base, late enough that Jyn isn’t surprised there’s no one waiting to meet her in the hangar. Melshi nudges her when he catches her looking around out of habit and tells her Cassian probably got told to stop hovering around like a grim-faced shadow, which earns him a solid punch in the arm. She pulls it, but Melshi makes a show of wincing and shoving her away with a huff of laughter.

“Don’t suppose I can convince you to go to the medbay, yeah?” he says, gesturing to the wrappings around her arm, the bacta patch he’d haphazardly slapped against her side when they’d had a breather between firefights. All the Pathfinders are looking worse for wear, dirty and singed and bone-weary.

“Not a chance,” Jyn shoots back, adjusting her pack over her shoulders and resolutely ignoring all her cuts and bruises and aching muscles. She wants sleep and a shower before anything else in the world and that definitely rules out getting poked and prodded by a 2-1B. “None of it’s that bad,” she adds because Melshi’s still squinting at her and she feels like she should reassure him. Looking out for each other during ops has left them _friends,_ she supposes. “I’ve dealt with worse on my own.”

Melshi frowns, but eventually shrugs and claps her on the shoulder. “Andor’s got steady hands, anyway.”

Another Pathfinder—Kes Dameron, eavesdropper, notorious gossip—laughs, his brown eyes sparkling with the beginnings of a joke Jyn is in no mood to hear, not when she could be in a warm bed with said steady hands on her.

“Shove off, Ruescott,” she says in parting, catching Melshi’s quick smile before she heads off for the officers’ quarters.

It’s late on base, sometime around midnight, if her internal clock isn’t too scrambled by travel. The halls are quiet, not a lot of people around and those that are thankfully aren’t interested in chatting. 

Tomorrow she’ll have more energy for other people. She’ll see if Bodhi is around to grab breakfast, if Baze wants to laugh at her and Chirrut sparring, if Kaytoo is around to terrorize some new recruits with her since she might have to lead a training lesson… but that’s all tomorrow. It can wait.

She can’t wait to see Cassian.

The lights are still on in their quarters, which isn’t a surprise—finding Cassian in bed anyway is, though. Jyn lingers in the doorway, taking in the sight of him. He has his back propped up against the wall, his eyes closed, head tilted to the side, mouth open. He looks peaceful, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath the weight of his faintly glowing datapad. She wants to laugh a little because he’s still mostly clothed—jacket, boots, and socks shed before he sat down. Jyn finds herself absurdly charmed by the sight of his bare feet, a concession to comfort while he tried and failed to stay up to greet her.

 _That can’t be a comfortable position,_ she muses, but it doesn’t seem worth it to wake him just yet. They both catch sleep when they can, and two weeks ago—when she’d seen him last—he hadn’t been able to get a full night’s worth of rest without nightmares.

They both share recurring dreams—the beach at Scarif, the shattering of Jedha, the storm on Eadu, and the Death Star looming over Yavin—but then there are others only specific to them. She dreams of the cave on Lah’mu. He dreams of blizzards on Fest.

About a month ago, she’d joined him on a mission to Jelucan that had run overlong, and found him struggling through reconnaissance on Valentia, a city of grey skies and sharp mountains and constant, smothering snow. Eyes bruised purple and mouth fixed into a grim line, he’d called the city haunted. She’d pulled him out as soon as they’d gotten enough information about the Empire’s interests, pulled him out and taken him back home, but afterward, for a while, he still felt distant. Drifting. Sleepwalking through shadowy streets in the snow.

 _Fest is in me,_ he’d told her one sleepless night, a few days before she got her Pathfinder assignment and had to leave him behind. _I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let it go._

It’s all right. She knows what he means. They both have scars invisible to the universe, places and people and events that have crystalized and live inside their bodies. Sometimes the weight of it all is heavier than others, but they’ve learned to shoulder it.

Jyn steps into their room on cat’s paws, lowering her bag to the floor as quietly as she can, though she winces and sucks in a breath at the pull of overtaxed muscles and the wound in her side. Her arm was grazed by a blaster bolt, achy but cauterized. Beneath the bacta patch are some scrapes that should be cleaned and will be more scars to add to the collection. 

She gingerly crouches down and yanks off her boots, deliberating between grabbing the med kit and handling it on her own in the ‘fresher or waking Cassian up and—after kissing him soundly—asking for help.

 _I’ve dealt with worse on my own,_ she told Melshi, and it’s true. It’s true, but she’s better at reminding herself these days that she isn’t on her own anymore.

One of the people looking out for her is sleeping soundly on that cramped bunk over there. She never thought she’d wind up finding another person sleeping _sweet,_ but here she is—her gaze keeps drifting inexorably to him. She’s _missed_ him. Her hands itch to card through his hair, feel the scrape of his stubble against her fingertips. 

A rueful smile curves across her face as she remembers her mother come in from an exploration of some rock formations on Lah’mu—like a grainy holocast recording, Jyn remembers Galen slumped over a broken droid at the kitchen table, and Lyra smelling of rain and earth, sweeping in and kissing the top of Galen’s head.

 _I’m back, love,_ whispered in that faraway time, echoing now inside Jyn’s mouth and heart.

She’ll let him sleep.

Ten minutes later, Jyn is stripped down to the waist in their tiny private ‘fresher and stifles curses as she rummages around for disinfectant. She’s trying to be quiet, but even with the door closed, every sound she makes seems magnified. 

A knock on the ‘fresher door. _Shit._ Her shoulders slump in defeat. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The door slides open and Cassian laughs—oh, she’s missed that laugh, the victory of being the one to cause it. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” She glances up into the mirror to see him rumpled and soft, hair messy like he ran his fingers through it before he got up. His eyes are alert, though, zeroing in on the bandages she’s trying to manage. “Oh, let me—”

She turns around to face him and presses one hand against his chest to stop him before curling her fingers in the fabric of his shirt. “Kiss me first.”

He huffs another laugh, smile gone crooked, his gaze worried but warm. The kiss he gives her is careful, one hand coming up to cradle her cheek like she’s something precious, longed for.

“Hey,” he murmurs against her mouth, and this never gets old, the warmth he puts into his next words, how they fill her up with light and love. “Welcome home.”


End file.
